The first thing that came to mind…oh, I cannot remember what I thought! but it was horrible. So horrible.

The feel, just the sensation, of the solid wax beneath my fingertips made my skin crawl. For that is what Christine was comprised of. Not flesh, but wax.

A mannequin stood before me. Not a woman, not a human being, but a doll, so life-like in appearance, I had been quite convinced that Christine had somehow managed to find her way back to Erik's home.

And for a second, in that single moment, when I first laid eyes upon her, despair hit me like a wave crashing upon shore. Erik would have what He always wanted, what He dreamt only of.

I turned away from it. No longer able to look at the pseudo Christine, the Christine so perfect. So pure and angelic, staring at me through those lifeless eyes. Those cerulean orbs that seemed bottomless, but retained no depth. Her mouth always frowning, her two rosy lips clasped together, wanting to speak words that would never come.

I focused in on the blackness of a velvet curtain that hung across from me. I was afraid, so terrified to let my mind wander. An unnerving replica of a lost love, that ghastly coffin… I found myself asking, 'How deep did Erik's obsessions run?'

Was I becoming one of them?

I could not stand to be in here a second longer. The countless sketches and musical staffs upon the walls, the gloomy billowing draperies, all felt like they were closing in on me. Suffocating me, stifling my thirst for the fantasy that no longer existed.

The heat radiating from the candles was too much, I could already feel my stomach rolling with nausea.

I turned to flee out of the door, but lost my footing on some object that lay, unbeknownst to me, near Erik's side. I landed on my knees next to His torso, as gracefully as one could manage. My face resting mere inches from the item that had caused my fall.

It was a small, wooden box. Surely, it was closed and sealed earlier, as the lock had indicated. But now, it was open, the key poking out through the folds in Erik's palm, the contents of the container spilling out over the carpet.

Small vials filled with clear liquids were scattered about. Several glass tubes accompanied them upon the floor. Curiously, I picked one of the tubes up and rolled it between my fingers.

Oh, Erik! What have you done?

My eyes went wide, and it became impossible to catch my breath.

With a gasp of realization, I turned to Erik, fearful that I would find Him lying dead next to me. I struggled rolling His massive frame over to His back, but determination overpowered my physical weakness.

His mask, was still intact. The other side of His face, seemed in greater disarray than what I had found under the covering earlier. His skin was slick with sweat, and took on a strange yellow tint. His mouth hung open, distorted in such a disturbing way, open as if He meant to scream, but could only manage a sob.

I began to shake Him, screaming His name over and over again as I wept over Him. I brought my hands up to His mouth, to feel if any air was escaping His dormant form. In a panic, I realized that I could not feel anything. I slammed my head down upon His chest and strained my hearing to listen for breath, a heart beat, anything that would indicate He was still alive.

I knew nothing of how to revive a man, and far less about the side effects of the serum that lay beside Him. I took hold of His arm, the sleeve was already rolled up, revealing the veins that were purpled and exhausted. I ran my thumb along the back of His forearm, hoping to erase the small punctures with my touch.

Seizing His face between my palms, I shook Him more. I alternated between soothing His brow with my hands, then recoiling away from Him, sinking back onto my knees in despair. Then, when I could stand the distance no longer, I was back at His side, crying His name repeatedly, begging for Him to answer.

"I promise, Erik. I promise I won't lie anymore. I promise. I'll do whatever it is that you ask of me," I felt myself start to grow weaker as time went on, the adrenaline slowly leaving my veins, "Come back. Please, come back."

I lay my head back upon His chest again, softer this time, and wrapped my arms around His waist. I had stopped crying, but the tears still leaked from my eyes, pooling on the linen of His shirt. I closed them, praying that when I opened my eyes, His own would be there to greet mine.

Opening my eyes was not an option. To let light penetrate the dark pits I had allowed myself to sink into would surely mean death. Not only the death of Erik. No, there was much more at risk here.

My head was pounding against His chest, and for a moment, it seemed as if His pulse had returned. Beating steadily against my temples. All too soon did I realize that it was my own blood, thumping at the walls of my veins.

I had never felt so helpless in my life. I desperately wanted to take some heroic measure and bring Erik back from the world beyond this, but found that I did not know how. I did not even know where to begin. I was too weak, too afraid…

The only obstacle between myself and the horrible truth that lie before me, beneath me, was the fragile skin of my eyelids. The thin flesh gripped tightly closed, protecting me, shielding me from the truth. For if I were to open them, if I were to somehow manage to lift the weighty tissue, the reality would crush me.

I could not fathom the possibility of Him being dead. Yet, I could not deny it either.

For if He was gone, this was the kind of respite that one did not return from. Ever.

Never would I know what could have been. And the not knowing was enough to drive me mad.

Everything with Erik was always indefinite, I could never figure out what He had planned next. What wheels were turning in that frantic mind of His.

Never was definite. Never was final.

I began to weep again, more violent this time. The tears coming through faster and faster as I shuddered at the coldness that crept through my body.

Grief can make one do things they never thought themselves capable of before. In my case, the grief caused me to think the thoughts I would never have dared. Thoughts, as true as they may be, were not exactly rational in the sanest of minds…

Erik was dead.

Below me, Erik is dead.

"Oh Erik! My poor Erik! What have you done?"

We could have had everything, Erik! I would have given you all of me! And now…

With these thoughts came the most startling of revelations. That tiny spark that ignited within me upon finding His inert form on the ground, suddenly burst into flame…Did I long to die with Him?

We would be together then! Accomplishing in death what we could not in life, our bodies resting beside one another. Forever. For all eternity.

That sobered me, and in an instant I sprang up from His body. Kneeling beside Him, staring down at Him with both dismay and intrigue.

How easy it would be!

I unconsciously felt around Erik's arm, tracing my way down to His hand where the syringe was clasped tightly in His palm. I closed my fingers around the cool, glassy exterior, and swiftly pried it from His grasp. The clear liquid swished around the vial, swirling about in the most enchanting of ways.

It appeared to be some sort of pain reducer, a form of opiate; morphine, I guessed. The bottle rested beside Erik's hip, the liquid nearly drained from its container. I picked it up and held it close to my face.

There was only a small amount of the drug left. It was enough, I estimated. It had to be enough.

The morphine looked so appealing.

With one quick prick of my arm, it could all be over. The pain, the sorrow, the guilt, the music…

Without regard, without thought, or sense I carefully placed the needle into the bottle. The fluid slowly filled the syringe, the crystal solution bubbling up until it reached the top of the tube.

I slowly rolled the sleeve of my gown up, staring transfixed, at the crook in my arm.

I gave a final glance back down to Erik, and with a sharp intake of breath, prepared to die.

As the needle entered my arm, something stirred beside me.

Erik's leg suddenly jerked, kicking me roughly in the side as I toppled to the ground. The syringe skittering across the ground, bouncing off the rug and landing on the stone with a crack. The glass shattered, spilling the contents onto the rigid floor. The morphine made a trail before me, weaving streams of glossy trickles as it dissipated into the stone.

I was still staring, dumbfounded at my arm. My hand still poised over my veins, ready to plunge the serum into my skin. The only evidence, the only reminder, a drop of red, red blood that seeped through the needle prick.